


The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most

by insatiablycurious



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablycurious/pseuds/insatiablycurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s almost like one thousand angry wasps have taken up residence inside her skull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

She can feel it.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of her brain.

(“In your cerebellum or in your occipital lobe?” Lauren asks. She doesn’t know the difference and she’s too distracted by the light reflecting off Lauren’s eyes to give her a definitive answer.)

Sometimes the buzzing is so loud she thinks _surely_ someone else must hear it.

(“It’s just your Super Sex-Supplied Senses, Bo-Bo” Kenzi tells her.)

It rattles her sometimes. Makes her feel off balance. Like there’s something there that shouldn’t be. It’s almost like one thousand angry wasps have taken up residence inside her skull.

(She once got stung by some wasps when she was a child. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know they were living in the tool shed. She had just wanted to use the shovel to dig for treasure. She would have left them alone if she had known.)

She’s afraid of getting stung again. But this, this is much worse than a wasp sting. A wasp sting could be treated. Lauren could give her medicine and patch it up. Lauren could fix a wasp sting.

(She doesn’t think Lauren can fix this.)

She hears Trick use words like “devolution” and “deconstructing” and other words with “de-“ as a prefix that make her nervous. She sees the way everyone keeps looking at her. Like she might melt into a pile of radioactive goo at the drop of a hat. Everyone but Lauren.

(Lauren looks at her like she’s afraid _for_ her instead of being afraid  _of_ her.)

She’s afraid of herself, though. Afraid she’s going to lose control. Afraid she’s going to hurt someone. Afraid she’s going to hurt _Lauren_.

The nightmares are worse. All full of lifeless eyes, cold corpses and dark alleyways. They feel so real that sometimes she wonders if they’re really nightmares or her subconscious reminding her of something she has done that she’s forgotten about. She wakes up overheated and panting.

You would think that darkness would be cold. It’s not. It’s hot. It’s a burning, searing, heat.

(Lauren’s hands are always cool against her chest and the side of her head. “Another one?” she asks, her face tight with worry. Bo shakes her head. “Do you need anything?” Lauren continues, smoothing the hand on the side of her face down to her neck. _Just you_ , Bo thinks. _Always you_.)

She tries to tell herself it’ll go away. She’ll pass this great big test and it’ll all go away. _It’s just like high school_ , she tells herself. She’ll go back to normal and maybe even be more in control. Maybe she won’t need to feed as much and she won’t have to see that look on Lauren’s face when she comes home too late and tasting like someone else.

(She never remembers their faces. She never remembers their taste. “That’s the difference,” she tells Lauren, “I never forget yours. I _could never_ forget yours.”)

She wants so bad to believe in the positive. That everything will be okay. That she will pass this Dawning. She wants so bad to believe in Kenzi’s drunken ramblings.

(“It’s just a roadblock, Bodacious. It’s a test. You’ve got a brainiac for a girlfriend and a Class A cheater for a bestie. You’re gonna be just fine.”)

But in the back of her mind she sees that creature in Trick’s cellar, with his mottled skin, yellowed fangs and sightless, animalistic eyes and she’s reminded of what she really is. What she has always been.

(“You are not a monster,” Lauren insists, her voice soft yet final.)

But what if she is?

What if the darkness that eats at the corner of her vision and gnaws at the back of her brain takes her over?

(“What’s the difference,” she asks Lauren as she presses her face into Lauren’s shoulder, “between your cerebellum and your occipital lobe?” Her girlfriend laughs.)

Sometimes her blood boils. Her veins crackle with power and her skin melts into her bones like magma. She loses control. The heat takes over and commandeers her limbs as she watches everything from a blue-tinged limbo.

(“Well, your cerebellum deals with movement. It controls your posture and your balance,” Lauren replies, her breath cool against the top of Bo’s head, “your occipital lobe deals with vision. It controls what you see and how you see it.”)

Maybe she’s right about those wasps in the back of her brain.

Maybe she’s already been stung.


End file.
